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Chapter 6: Midnight
Temor leaned forward, bracing his entire body behind his shield, the charging Karasu slamming into the wooden barrier with bone jarring force. The raven person crumpled to the ground, the hollow bones which gave it flight unable to withstand the impact. All around him the battle raged, a seething mass of violence that went on as far as he could see. Ahead of them the Citadel pierced the clouds, only five miles separated them from Agnorak, only five miles. But he knew they would never reach it, everyone had known it the second they had crested the last dune and saw the army arrayed to face them. He instinctively lashed out with his war ax, both figuratively and literally disarming one of the humans that marched in the army of the wastes. The lopsided man lunged at him, the ax cleaving downward, crashing through the shoulder and ribcage. Unable to extract his ax Temor dropped his shield and drew the two handed greatsword from his back, a blazing flash of setting sunlight reflecting off of the five foot long blade. There was to be no victory, he had failed, all of his schemes, his calculations, all the Grail who had sacrificed themselves in the hope of returning home. The month long march through the sea of the lost was for nothing. The death of his army was for nothing. No hope. No survival. No reason to continue other than for the sake of the kill. The blade completely bisected a Crux, the huge lizard’s death giving him and the warriors he lead a few moments of respite before the next wave of horrors charged. Rocs snatched soldiers from the formation, while hellhounds and shades tried to force their way in through the holes. No matter what they did the island of red and brown uniforms kept shrinking, screams of agony as they were dragged away by the hellhounds, the crack of hammer against living stone, the wet whistling of greatswords cleaving through the mass. Temor could feel his arms burning, his knuckles cramping, his hands turning to claws locked around the hilt of his blade. And suddenly he was alone. Those he had lead were all gone. Just him. He could see pockets of resistance caving in, the hoard an unstoppable wave of death and pain. A shade slowly stalked towards him, smacking hellhounds out of its path, veins of iron ore rippled across its body. Temor ducked under a swing of the stone arm, swept behind it and brought the pommel of his sword down on the base of its skull, shattering the stone neck, the head held on only by a thin sliver of metal. He dropped his left hand from his blade and twisted the statue’s head off before flinging it into a crowd of other shades who backed away from him. His blade clipped the talon off of a Roc, spraying him in even more blood. He greedily licked it from his lips, trying to sate his thirst. A pair of humans rushed him, swinging warhammers. One caught the blade of his sword with a well aimed strike, spraying splinters of metal. Temor jammed the jagged remains of his sword into the vision slit of one before turning on the other who was winding up for another attack. The long, talon like fingers of Temor’s gauntlets tore deep gashes in their face before the doomed general’s thumb flicked across the hammer bearer’s jugular. He yanked a obsidian sword out of the body of one of his troops and used it to crease the brainpan of a hellhound. A spear slammed into him from behind, finding a gap in his armor, he tried to turn and face his newest attacker, but the spear remained embedded in his side. He hacked at it blindly, finally cutting through the shaft but causing the tip to jerk and twist inside. The human who held it fell to the earth moments later, hands grasping around the massive slash in their guts. Every moment that passed he became weaker, the obsidian blade slipping from his blood drenched fingers. He swung weakly, the sharpened gauntlets still cutting bloody ribbons in unprotected flesh but it could not continue. He slowly fell the the ground, where he remained, looking up at the sky for an eternity. “You fought well. Far better than I had expected. Your will is strong enough to remain whole. A new form but the same mind.” A deep, grinding voice like a thunderstorm pounded in Temor’s skull. Above him the sky seemed to be twisting, tendrils of darkness racing forward across the dome of the world. Lightning crackled in the heavens, magical energy washing over his corpse. “Now rise Tabaraamon! Remind these creatures why the darkness is something to be feared!” ' ' “Seven dark figures, charging battle, blades held high. Seven dark horses, the front of storm, so fast they fly. Seven dark warriors, harbingers of death, end is nigh. Seven dark hunters, slayers of kings, regicide. Seven dark judges, axes in hand, no matter the crime. Seven dark heros, honor bound, older than time. Seven dark riders, cursed by a god, never to die. Author unknown.”